


a four letter word.

by lavieradieuse



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, Tronnor, troyler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4539657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavieradieuse/pseuds/lavieradieuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was catharsis.</p></blockquote>





	a four letter word.

it only takes one step, one all too familiar step, for his pulse to freeze, to halt in its path like the moment a fish takes a breath out of water: that stillness, that fear, that panic--but it's quiet, brewing underneath the surface, waiting to wreck his entire body of nostalgia.

he's not sure what brought him here this afternoon, only that his quick steps took him on the five minute walk to a coffee shop he's so used to frequenting. he'd stopped since they stopped talking, but he blames it on the fact that there's just really good lattes here and he's craving the bitter, light, all too contradictory--that's what makes it good--release, that flavor that he loved so much.

it only takes looking up at the barista to realize how long it's been. this place is one that prides itself in familiarizing with all its patrons, which means each and every barista gets a long employment--possibly even lifetime, if that's what they need to get on their feet again, or if that's simply what they need. he's gotten used to all of them, learned their quirks, fallen in love with each barista's carefully built-up collection of designs, of blends, of smiles. they know him too. they did, at least. it's been a while, he knows, but he didn't know it had been this long, until he makes eye contact with each person standing behind the registers and registers none of their names, none of their eyes, none of their smiles.

he asks for his favorite, quickly, and without smiling, because he's not so sure if he wants to get attached this time. time. it moved quickly, but slowly. he seems to wait forever for a simple drink, the seconds taking what seem like hours, time pulling and stretching in the weirdest of ways, as if the hands on the clock are actual human hands, the thumbs and forefingers playing with minutes like silly putty. he barely hears his name being called before he realizes he's at their old table again.

it only takes a sharp involuntary intake of breath to make him realize he's never sat on the other side. so he does. he pulls the chair out with one hand, trying to steady his right hand like he's always done to not spill his gorgeous latte, pulling out the chair this time not for _him_ but for himself. he sits.

he never realized what a different view this was. he never realized that from here he could see the rest of the tables and chairs and people. and he wonders if _he_ ever looked beyond the eyes of the man in front of him, if _he_ ever relied on the view behind him to avoid making conversation, if _he_ was ever bored enough with them to prefer to watch the people around them rather than focus on the man in front of him. he's never done so. he has been--or, was--so deeply captivated by _his_ eyes and _his_ mouth and _his_ soft curls and _his_ flying hands and _his_ thoughts to ever want to tear his eyes or his mind away.

it only takes one sip for him to realize he doesn't even want this coffee anymore. something about the scent makes him ache, reminds him too much of the boy with soft curly hair and a shy smile and long fingers and sparkling blue lemur eyes.

he is rooted by longing, by wishing for something that never existed and will never exist. he's not even sure how they got here, if here even is anywhere. he's not even sure what this is. they don't talk. they don't text. somehow over the course of the past--year? six months? something like that--they both became so busy, caught up in their own work--excited work, for sure--that they never found time to skype, to talk. and after a while, it wasn't even not having time. it felt weird. it felt weird to be reminded of a relationship that was so deeply beautiful and sweet that couldn't exist simply because so much time had passed that they couldn't bring themselves to speak up again. so the silence stretched from a day to a week to a month to months and months and months. oh, they'll still like each other posts on instagram, wish each other platonic happy birthdays--but it's always from a distance, and he can't pretend it doesn't make him feel at a loss. he's not sure what he thinks but maybe he's thinking the same but they're just both too afraid to say anything anymore, so they don't. he misses them but... he's scared. so he stays silent. as always.

it only takes a friendly barista with a little too much of a knowing glance to uproot him from his seat, and his coffee is cold and he doesn't know how long he's been here but he knows it's time to go. being here for too long gets deep into his heart, hurts a little.

his steps are long and short at the same time, his arms awkwardly hanging by his side, as he makes his way to the door. as he walks out, he takes one look back at the little shop tucked away in a little corner of the world, a place where he once felt so happy, a place where he found himself so often, just to catch up on work and coffee and comfort with a friend, whose thoughts were like galaxies and mosaics and veins, whose thoughts were both complex and honest, whose thoughts could silence his fears and his overthinking and his anxiety and his sadness. he still considers _him_ a friend, despite the distance, despite the silence, despite the fact that they'll never be friends again. it's a weird thought. it's a lonely thought.

it only takes one glance back at the name of this lovely and lonely shop to remind him of all that _he_ did for him, and the one only important thing _he_ did for him: put him at _**ease.**_

**Author's Note:**

> this was catharsis.


End file.
